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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347677">You Can Still Come Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/abby_gaytes/pseuds/abby_gaytes'>abby_gaytes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ghostbusters (2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abby is a hopeful bb, Angst, Estrangement, F/F, Heartbreak, Post-Break Up, Pre-Canon, Sometimes desperately hopeful against the odds and perhaps her own better judgment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:21:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/abby_gaytes/pseuds/abby_gaytes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I might not ever understand why you make some of the choices you do,” she began, “but Erin, listen…if you change your mind somewhere down the line, you can always come back. It’d never be too late to start over with me. I would still pick up if you called.” </p><p>The one in which a reeling Abby leaves a door open to the person who won’t talk to her, and Erin takes her up on it during a low point in her life, but it still takes them fifteen additional years to reconcile.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erin Gilbert/Abby Yates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Can Still Come Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Abby would later say her friendship with Erin died a quiet death at the end of the last summer they shared together in 1996. In reality, it was only quiet because no one was around to witness the way she fell apart the moment she realized the woman she loved had abandoned her intentionally.</p><p>They’d expected their appearance on the Wolverine Scene to go poorly - the campus talk show wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of peer review - but Abby had argued they had to start somewhere. She and Erin spent weeks leading up to their debut hyping each other up as they prepared and practiced and did their best to predict all manner of curveballs the hosts might throw at them to catch them off-guard. She was nervous, and Erin was too. She thought it was normal to be a little nervous before such an important moment. But as Abby’s confidence rose the closer they got to the date the episode would be taped, Erin only seemed to shrink further back into herself. Every day, new, anxious questions plagued her mind. She wrung her hands and worried, looking to Abby for reassurance. </p><p>The night before the show, Erin lie stretched out on the couch with her head in Abby’s lap, her gaze darkened with rumination. Abby ran her fingers through the length of Erin’s hair in an attempt to soothe away the storms she could sense were building up within her, but her girlfriend remained tense and quiet. </p><p>“What if they call us crazy?” Erin asked after a while, her voice tight and pinched. “And it’s the Ghost Girl thing all over again, but worse this time?” </p><p>“I’ll punch them in the face,” Abby responded without hesitation, her go-to promise for making Erin feel better. </p><p>“Abby, I’m serious.” She shifted upright. Pulling away from the touch, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What if no one takes us seriously after this ever again?” </p><p>Abby followed her into a seated position, but gave her space. She knew better than to press when her partner’s anxiety was triggered, even if her first thought was admittedly that she was serious, too. She decided a softer approach was necessary here. “Hey. Erin, look at me.” </p><p>Erin huffed, but obliged, raising her eyes to meet Abby’s. </p><p>“Even if everything goes wrong tomorrow, I’ll be right there holding your hand,” she said. Her fingers brushed Erin’s palm for emphasis and she yielded, allowing Abby to interlace their hands. “Just think: in twenty years, we’ll look back on this over drinks and laugh about all of the stupid things they asked us before they knew what we know. And we’ll wonder why we were ever worried.” </p><p>Erin didn’t look convinced, but she was listening, and that was a start. </p><p>“Because we’re doing something incredible,” Abby continued, “and it’s incredible that we get to do it together. It’s how we’ve gotten through everything up to this point, right?” </p><p>“You were the only person who ever believed in me,” Erin replied, adding after a moment of contemplation, “<em> Are </em> the only person who believes in me, still.” </p><p>“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t exactly be where I am without you, either. Erin, I know I can do anything by your side. And I know you can do anything, including this.” </p><p>Erin’s face fell briefly once more, though she kept whatever thoughts cast a pall over her anew to herself. Finally, she gave a small, unreadable smile. “Yeah,” she agreed. “You’re right. We’ll do it together. Just like always.” </p><p>“That’s the spirit!” Abby patted her shoulder, letting the gesture become an embrace. Erin sighed as she relaxed into Abby’s side, shuddering a little as they straightened up. “I’m gonna turn in for the night. You coming to bed?” </p><p>She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I think I’ll stay out here for a while, clear my head.” </p><p>“Okay.” Abby stood and bent down to place a kiss on Erin’s forehead, then cupped her cheek and kissed her lips, too. “Try not to worry too much. We’ll get through this talk show, and then it’s on to grad school and the rest of our lives.” </p><p>She moved to leave, but Erin stopped her. </p><p>“Wait - Abby?” </p><p>She turned and was almost knocked off-balance when Erin threw her arms around her, hugging her tight. </p><p>“I love you,” Erin whispered, in such a serious tone it took Abby aback. </p><p>“I love you, too, Erin. Always.” </p><p>A long moment passed before Erin let her go. They held each other as time stood suspended at the edge of a new beginning, and Abby made a mental note to do something special with her after the appearance. Clearly, it was weighing on Erin even more than she was willing to let on. Abby, however, would make sure their memories of their book launch were positive regardless of what any critics had to say about it. She went to bed with a sneaky little grin, content with the ideas she came up with to surprise her. </p><p>The next day, though, Abby lost track of how many times she glanced at that door in the far corner of the studio from where she sat on the stage, tears burning behind her eyes while she choked on her inability to answer why her co-author wasn’t present. While she was across campus undergoing the most humiliating experience of her life, alone, Erin was packing up her share of the apartment to leave for Princeton two weeks early. </p><p>She’d made arrangements weeks before, around the time the two of them had started prepping for their television appearance. The whole time Abby had encouraged her and worked to infuse her with love and strength, Erin planned to leave her. </p><p>Erin had told her she loved her knowing she was going to abandon her in twelve hours. </p><p>Abby came home to an apartment scrubbed of any indicator that Erin had ever existed in her world at all. Gone were her clothes, neatly folded and pressed in now-barren drawers and hangers stripped of their purpose. Gone were her books, whose steadfastness supported her girlfriend’s collection, now overturned on their sides. Gone were her awards and trinkets and baubles and memories, the nerdy mugs with physics puns she would never admit to owning, the succulent she rescued from the street because she thought it would otherwise go unloved. Gone, gone, gone, gone. </p><p>It was chaos cloaked in impeccable tidiness, and it was suffocating. Erin had meticulously removed all traces of her presence - except, Abby noticed, the photos they’d taped to the bedroom wall. </p><p>Desperate to ground herself, Abby pulled one down. It was an outtake from the photoshoot that produced the back-cover image of their book, which had candidly captured her and Erin post-clap, reaching for each other’s hands as they smiled ear-to-ear at how far they’d come. Frameless, because they always wanted to put up more pictures than they could afford to frame. Inscribed on the back with their full names and the year, because Erin insisted on it for posterity, and Abby never minded imagining the lifelong legacy they were going to leave together. Most importantly, it was evidence: much-needed proof Erin did exist and the life they shared was real, as much as it didn’t feel like it looking at the upended apartment she left behind. </p><p>At first, Abby was too stunned by the betrayal to begin to process the loss. But as she traced the curve of Erin’s jaw in the photo, letting her finger drift over her partner’s shoulder before it came to rest on the hands she had held just the day before, and never would again, something within her broke. Something within her <em> shattered </em>, like all of the dreams and promises she now stood in the ruins of. </p><p>She tossed the picture in the vicinity of the nightstand, not sure and not caring if it made it there or not. Then, she collapsed into bed, curling up into herself as she pressed her hands to her eyes and wracked her brain searching for the signs she had overlooked in the lead-up to Erin leaving her - for the opportunities she’d missed to change the outcome of events. </p><p>She didn’t get up for days.</p>
<hr/><p>It wasn’t as though Abby never tried to get Erin’s side of the story. </p><p>She tried again and again to no avail, as the seasons rolled over and midterms crept up on her before she realized how much time had passed her by unnoticed. </p><p>Logically, she knew Erin didn’t owe her an explanation, as much as it hurt that she would discard her without one after everything they’d been through. But she couldn’t write Erin off without one. With so much unsaid. Unknown. It wasn’t scientific, but more importantly, it wasn’t Abby, to assume the worst of anyone - least of all the woman who had been the most important person in her life for six years. She had to seek answers, even if Erin wouldn’t give them to her. She had to try. </p><p>She left messages in the beginning, but she started hanging up before her calls could go to Erin’s answering machine. Abby couldn’t precisely mark the turning point when Erin’s sweet voice turned acidic in her ears. Hearing it, though - as bright and kind as it had always been toward everyone except her - burned worse than she could have ever anticipated it would. She continued in limbo, unable to move forward, and unable to let go. </p><p>After months of grief renewed every time Erin didn’t pick up or call her back, Abby took a deep breath, stood straight up, and wiped away the tears that had never quite stopped coming since the day Erin vanished out of her life without a second glance in her direction. She collected the remnants of her dignity and molded them into a protective shield around a broken heart that still dared to dream one day, someday, <em> her </em>Erin might come back. That they’d arrive at a moment where they’d talk and fall into old habits, and Abby would forgive her, of course, whether she deserved it or not - because Abby would always forgive her and welcome her home with open arms, no matter how long Erin had stayed away, or how much Abby had ached in her absence, or how hard the fractures in their foundation would be to repair. </p><p>Because she loved Erin more than she’d ever loved anyone, but Erin was gone. </p><p>And if she wasn’t careful, Abby would lose herself, too, in the process of waiting and wishing for her to come back. </p><p>So, she chose her words with precision in the knowledge they could be the last ones she ever said to the woman she had so loved for so long. She let the phone ring five times and shift over to Erin’s answering machine with an audible <em> click </em>, where she almost lost her resolve when an all-too-familiar voice, full of a warmth that reminded Abby of summer days, shared sweaters, and secret, stolen kisses under the stars, invited her to leave a message. </p><p>Abby steadied her nerves while she waited for the ghost of an Erin who no longer existed in any meaningful way in her life to finish speaking. The <em> beep </em>followed as promised. Her voice as she breathed life into the words she’d practiced for days until they no longer quavered with uncertainty was surprisingly clear and strong. </p><p>“I might not ever understand why you make some of the choices you do,” she began, “but Erin, listen…if you change your mind somewhere down the line, you can always come back. It’d never be too late to start over with me. I would still pick up if you called.” </p><p>Her fingertip hovered over the hook switch to end the call in the event she wavered off-course. She wasn’t willing to let a nostalgic yearning for what could have been tempt her away from the healthiest decision she could make for herself in the present. Erin threw her away like she was nothing, Abby reminded the traitorous glimmers of hope within her. Until and unless something changed, she had to protect her own peace. </p><p>“I hope you find what you’re looking for out there.” </p><p><em> Even if it’s without me </em>. </p><p>“Just take care of yourself, okay?” </p><p>
  <em> I love you, Erin.  </em>
</p><p><em> Please don’t take too long to come home </em>. </p><p>Then, Abby pressed the button and cut the last tie connecting her to her ex-girlfriend and former best friend. A dial tone replaced the open-ended emptiness of Erin’s answering machine, cementing the end of their relationship with a finality she suddenly couldn’t handle. Abby stumbled to the bathroom, shaking, and managed to strip off most of her clothes before she collapsed in the shower, sobbing violently as the weight of being alone again washed over her. She drew her knees to her chest and tangled her hands in her hair until the water ran cold. </p><p>Shivering, she stood, and forced her breath back under her control with a purposeful rhythm. She was exhausted and emotionally spent. The days of disrupted routine and depression were catching up to her, Abby realized as she evaluated her face in the mirror; she didn’t look like herself. Not that she felt like herself, either, but the Abby gazing back at her had thinned around the face, her eyes puffy and bruised. The visual representation of the extent she hadn’t taken care of herself for the past few months unnerved her. She deserved better than that. </p><p>She had to do better than that. </p><p>Abby sighed as she changed into a fresh set of pajamas; she decided there was no salvaging the rest of the day. She could come up with a game plan for her immediate future once she’d rested and regrouped. Crawling under the covers, she crashed into the kind of dreamless sleep that had evaded her since the day Erin left. </p><p>The next morning, Abby replaced her sheets, cleared away the stacks of dishes strewn across her room, and stepped into the process of rebuilding herself. She had to admit she felt lighter for the newfound closure she’d given herself, even if her chest remained a little hollow. Her grad school coursework and her burgeoning career in paranormal studies would fill in the spaces Erin had bled dry in her stride. She was a leader, always had been, always would be: a voice for all of the people who had been disbelieved and cast aside as crazy before humanity had the means to understand their experiences. Her work was groundbreaking and no one could take that away from her. She would be recognized in her proper time, just like all pioneers of brand-new fields of study before her. </p><p>Her path, after all, had always been clear. </p><p>And if Erin didn’t want to walk it with her, it was her loss. </p><p>Abby sealed Erin Gilbert firmly in the archives of her past, alongside her life in Battle Creek, her near-death experience, and her childhood dream of becoming a cryptid. Someday, she told herself, the pain of the memories would fade into just another closed chapter in her story of becoming the person she was meant to be. In time, she would come to regard Erin as a temporary connection that incited necessary growth, and she would learn to be okay with it. Probably. She hoped. </p><p>But in the end, she never changed her phone number. </p>
<hr/><p>The year was 2001, and Abby, now living in a somehow-even-tinier studio apartment in New York City, had passed out at her desk among piles of dog-eared books and academic journals full of her own scribbles and notes. She was twenty-seven years old, settled into her first research position since leaving grad school with her doctorate in physics, and she was <em> stuck </em>. Somewhere between the theoretical framework she was certain was sound and the mathematical model needed to support her ideas, she was missing something to make the pieces connect. </p><p>And she’d broken enough boys’ noses as a kid to have learned one thing about herself really well: if there was one thing in this life Abby Yates couldn’t resist, it was a challenge. The more confrontational the better. She buzzed with excitement the day she defended her dissertation with a fearless confidence her mentor had never seen in any doctoral candidate before her, engaging the committee in a passionate exchange of ideas that bordered on a debate at times. Unanimously passed in half the time deliberation normally took. So, whenever a particularly difficult equation squared up to fight her, Abby challenged it right back. She stayed up sleepless night after sleepless night, exploring every avenue to solve the problem at hand until she cracked the code and pocketed her victory. No string of numbers and variables had gotten the best of her yet. </p><p>During these stretches, it wasn’t uncommon for Abby to startle awake in the middle of the night somewhere other than her bed with a kink in her neck and too much on her mind. </p><p>What was less common, for any reason, was for her phone to ring at three in the morning. </p><p>A shot of adrenaline rushed through her as she bolted upright, knocking two texts and a takeout container of Chinese food to the ground in her rush to orient herself. Leftover rice spilled out onto the floor and she groaned, calling out, “Really?” to no one in particular. </p><p>She attempted to rub some of the bleariness from her eyes as she made her way over to the source of the sound. She was regretting her decision not to invest in caller ID, and she briefly contemplated giving whoever was on the other end an earful. But call it intuition, or call it a hunch - Abby had seen enough episodes of true crime TV to know a phone call this late couldn’t mean anything good. It was better she answered now than to find out something terrible later. </p><p>Snatching the receiver off the hook, she didn’t allow herself the time to overthink the possibilities. “Hello, you’ve reached Dr. Abigail Yates,” she said evenly. “Who is this?” </p><p>Silence on the line prompted Abby’s irritation to spike - if it <em> was </em> a prank call, she <em> was </em>going to ensure the person on the other end regretted it - until a female voice gasped a sharp inhale, like whoever it belonged to had been crying and holding her breath. </p><p>“Abby?” the voice breathed, its simultaneous relief and disbelief palpable. </p><p>“Amelia?” </p><p>Abby’s heart raced as her worst fears flooded through her; her older sister was 685 miles away and pregnant. Oh, no. This wasn’t <em> that </em>phone call, was it? </p><p>She had already started making mental plans for how she was going to get back to Michigan, how she would inform her superior she needed to take a leave of absence, and how she could bring one of her colleagues up to speed on her portion of the work - not that she knew who she was close enough to to trust with it, but she’d figure it out - when the voice spoke again. </p><p>“No, Abby…it’s me.” </p><p>She froze. </p><p>Instantly awake, her hands went clammy as her body readied its fight-or-flight reflex in a panic at being knocked so thoroughly off-guard. Her breath stuttered, and she nearly dropped the phone she held. </p><p>“Erin?” </p><p>Silence. </p><p>Sniffles.</p><p>Then - confirmation, in a single word, from the person Abby had long ago buried her hopes of ever hearing from again. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>It dawned on her that Erin was waiting for her to say something, but she was at a loss for what to say. </p><p>Maybe under other circumstances, she could have found it in herself to be angry. To be sarcastic. To run Erin through the wringer for a small taste of how she’d left Abby high and dry right when Abby needed her most. She’d envisioned different outcomes for this scenario over the years, and none of them felt sufficient or appropriate now in light of the sound of Erin dissolving on the other end of the line. </p><p>A sour feeling rose up in her throat. Abby had talked her former friend through enough panic attacks during their growing-up to have learned the landscape of Erin’s minefield of triggers; she knew which kinds of thoughts led to this kind of reaction, and all of them worried her. She had no idea where Erin was, or if she was safe. Was she still in New Jersey? Back in Michigan? She wished she knew who to call, or where to go. All she was certain of was that she was overwhelmed by the strength of her instinct to protect Erin, even now and in spite of everything. </p><p>Abby sat down hard, ignoring the little voice telling her she was going to get her heart broken all over again if she didn’t hang up, now. She made her decision in 1996 to leave her door open to Erin, and to be someone she could come home to no matter when, no matter what. She intended to follow through on that promise. </p><p>“I - are you okay?” </p><p>Erin laughed bitterly, though the sound was more hollow than anything else. “I’m obviously not,” she replied. </p><p>
  <em> Or I wouldn’t be crying on the phone at three o’clock in the morning.  </em>
</p><p><em> Or I wouldn’t be calling </em> you<em>, of all people.  </em></p><p>“Okay. I’m here,” Abby said slowly, buying herself time to find the right words to say. “I’m glad you called.” </p><p>Fuck, she had never been good at this. </p><p>“Are you safe to be on your own right now?” </p><p>“Yeah.” Erin made a soft sound that became a sob, which she muffled into her hand. “It’s not…it’s not that kind of bad night.” </p><p>A weight Abby didn’t realize she was carrying on her shoulders melted away at the affirmation; she ran a hand through her hair and tightened her grip in an attempt to diffuse the stress and the stakes of the situation at hand. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” </p><p>“No,” Erin whispered, but her voice hitched on the sound. Abby wondered if she was defaulting to her time-honored survival mechanism where she would decline to speak rather than open herself up to the possibility of being vulnerable. Regardless, she held back and waited patiently for Erin to continue when she was ready. “Can you just stay on the line with me for a while?” </p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>Abby let the quiet settle over the two of them once more as they breathed in the stillness of the moment they’d arrived at together, somehow, after years of distance and disconnection. A deep breath in and she counted to five, taking note of the intimacy inherent in holding Erin while she cried, even from a distance. It was a level of intimacy both inappropriate and undeserved given the note her ex left on, not that it ever stopped her before where Erin was concerned. A deep breath out in equal beats and she concentrated on bringing her own pulse back down to a normal speed. Memories of their relationship at its peak and its end materialized at the forefront of her mind, reopening painful wounds and reviving her traitorous glimmers of hope in a single, fluid sweep. Erin’s tears came in waves of crests and descents, but Abby noticed they started to even out as she followed her lead, emulating Abby’s rhythm until she calmed, her panic broken. </p><p>“Better?” she asked, once it felt right to speak again. </p><p>“Y-yeah. Thanks, Abby.” </p><p><em> Hang up before you get attached </em>. </p><p>“I can’t believe you still have this number.” </p><p><em> I had to fight two different phone companies to keep it across state lines </em>, Abby thought, but she deflected at the last minute with a nervous giggle. “How often do you get a number that repeats your area code three times? Couldn’t, um…couldn’t let that one go easily, you know?” </p><p>Erin hummed a polite agreement, and it all seemed comedically insufficient. They were dancing around the elephant in the room, neither of them willing to take a step toward or away from each other - until Abby decided to move. </p><p>Sighing, she dropped her defenses just enough to invite Erin inside. “Also, I meant what I said, way back when. I’ll always answer if you call. I still believe in you, and I’m still here for you. If you need me.” </p><p>“Abby…” </p><p>“I meant the other things, too,” she continued, speeding up at the slightest note of reservation in Erin’s voice. “You can always come back. It’s never too late.” </p><p>For a moment, Erin seemed to consider the offer, a new hiccup in her breath as she yielded to the vulnerability of coming home to the person who had loved and supported her unconditionally. But just as quickly as Abby allowed herself to believe they could begin again, a sharp crack in the air strengthened the walls between them. Erin shut down, Abby shut out on the other side of the divide once again. </p><p>“No, I - I can’t. I’m sorry.” </p><p>With that, Erin hung up abruptly, leaving Abby to pick up the pieces of her absence for the second time in her life. </p>
<hr/><p>Fifteen years later, Abby republished the book she co-authored with Erin on purpose, as much as she would have denied it if confronted. </p><p>By now, she had spent four times as long without her first friend and first love as she ever had with her, notwithstanding that single, brief, and mysterious phone call in the interim of their estrangement. For as much as the sound of Erin’s voice had cracked the walls Abby so carefully erected around her heart and reignited her hope for reunion, Erin never called again. At this point, that seemed like typical Erin - to throw her away without a word when Abby needed her the most, and then to reappear just as thoughtlessly, without warning, to take what <em> she </em>needed before abandoning Abby again. </p><p>Regardless of what she had promised, it was after that phone call that Abby finally took off the rose-colored glasses she used to filter Erin’s behavior. The second waves of sadness and disappointment she experienced due to misplacing her faith in the same person twice solidified into cold detachment before they settled firmly into bitterness. What hurt the most was that she knew Erin could do <em> better </em>than this, and yet, she repeatedly chose not to. Regardless, Abby gave up. She was a scientist and she had to believe the data for what it actually indicated, not what she wanted it to. </p><p>She couldn’t force Erin to care or to treat her better, so she built the life she wanted to live without Erin. She founded the Paranormal Studies department at the Higgins Institute where she also taught physics. She met Jillian Holtzmann, the wild-hearted nuclear engineer who was more than happy to accompany her to abandoned locations in pursuit of EVPs and who invented machines which actualized Abby and Erin’s theories like she was born to push the boundaries of possibility. She was on the cusp of a breakthrough she had worked her entire life to reach, and she had achieved every one of her accomplishments on her own or with Holtz instead. </p><p>As Holtzmann’s role in her life expanded from her lab assistant to her closest confidante, lingering bitterness over Erin’s effect on her sometimes spilled over at the bar or on her couch during X-Files rewatch nights, occasionally ending in tears or impassioned rants, or both. Over the years, though, Abby found not thinking about Erin all the time grew easier than she expected, and the memories they shared stayed pretty much relegated to the back of her mind. </p><p>Well, Abby <em> mostly </em>gave up. </p><p>She still never changed her phone number. </p><p>And she still looked Erin up from time to time to see how she was doing. If she was successful. If she was happy. </p><p>Erin never looked happy in the photos Abby found online. </p><p>She looked polished and pretty in her beige tweed ensembles, her face framed by long, tousled auburn hair and cute, straight bangs. But the halfhearted smile she offered never reached her eyes, which were glassy and lifeless. It was as though someone had drawn a veil over Erin’s spirit - her fire was still in there, somewhere, but this person wearing Erin’s skin was a hollowed-out caricature of who Abby knew she could be. She looked miserable, and Abby couldn’t help but compare her to the starry-eyed young woman she had known who was going to set the world on fire by her side. </p><p>The Higgins Institute, a for-profit college that rotated its employees as quickly as it burned them out, wasn’t the kind of university where one got tenure. Nonetheless, Abby was familiar with the timeline one typically progressed into a tenure-tracked role in academia. Everything she and Erin had ever dreamed of was within her grasp; she had to act fast. She had a very small and closing window to have any chance of tempting Erin back into chasing the unknown alongside her. If Erin received tenure before Abby could make her aware of how close they were to proving the existence of the paranormal, she would never uproot her stable place at the table of high society to come back to her. </p><p>Decades of ambiguity had culminated into a real possibility Abby would permanently lose the wish she had clung to in secret for twenty years: that Erin would return, and they could begin again, in defiance of the odds. </p><p>She wasn’t willing to let Erin go for good without a fight. </p><p>So, Abby published their book, their baby they brought into the world together, and pointedly included a note of where she could be found in her author bio. If there was one thing she knew about Erin Gilbert, even now, it was that she cared so much about what others thought of her there was no way she didn’t monitor her name online. Someone would bring the book to Erin’s attention if Erin didn’t discover it herself. Abby gambled Erin would be incensed enough to seek her out, and she hoped she was right. </p><p>The day came when she was least expecting it. </p><p>She was testing a prototype of an invention designed to measure which parts of the brain were activated by metaphysical sensory input, and she heard only a muffled greeting accompany a knock on the door. </p><p>“I’ve been waiting a long time,” she complained, she thought, to the delivery boy with an infuriating habit of infuriating her on purpose. Abby assumed the equally-muffled reply was one of the snarky quips she’d come to expect from him, and she rolled her eyes. “Hope you brought me more than one wonton.” </p><p>Parting the thick yellow curtains that surrounded the most radioactive section of the lab, Abby stepped out, only for her heart to leap into her throat when a familiar face stared back at her, blue eyes a roller coaster of all-too-readable emotion. Abby faltered in the outrage she’d prepared for this moment, stumbling over suddenly-unearthed promises of forever and dreams of the future they planned to build together. </p><p><em> Erin </em>. </p><p>And right before her walls hardened again, defending her with the sharp barbs she would go on to direct at Erin in an effort to deflect from her own disrupted resolve, her breath caught on the words she wanted to say in 1996, in 2001, and now. </p><p><em> You can still come home </em>. </p><p><em> I still love you </em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A short fic just to break the creative block. I’m in the middle of writing their reconciliation fic, which has been living rent-free in my head for 4.5 years and is going to be the death of me to do right, so for now, you get the angst and a promise I’ll make it better in the end. </p><p>cassiopeiasara and amtrak12 get a standing credit on all of my Yatesbert fics, because my understanding of Abby and Erin’s dynamic is so inherently bound up in their wonderfully thoughtful meta that I can no longer unlink what I know to be true because of canon and what I know to be true because of them. This one was specifically inspired by cassiopeiasara's "If I ever called..." The title was intended as an homage in the form of a call and response: "If I ever called..." "You can still come home."</p></blockquote></div></div>
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